Warning! This story might contain
activities that might not be suitable in selfbondage. Please
play safe.

As promised, here is the dream referred
to in Cheryl's Long Night. It happens between the time Cheryl
passes out, tied to her torture table, and when she regains consciousness
later that night.

Through a groggy haze, Cheryl felt that
she was still tightlaced, collared and gagged. But there was
more to her restraints. She felt her arms were pulled severely
back, and held fast behind her, and her legs were pinned together.
But she was warm, enveloped in a soft blanket, and comfortable.
A gentle voice prodded her awake.

"Mistress Cheryl, it is time to rise."

She opened her eyes, and shut them again
against the light of morning. She had glimpsed a young woman
before her, in some kind of servant's uniform dress, dark green
with an immaculate white apron, and a maid's bonnet. "You
must get up, Mistress Cheryl. You are expected at breakfast,
and we must ready you."

Cheryl's eyes finally adjusted enough
to open and focus on her companion. She was youngish, maybe not
even older than Cheryl herself, who was twenty-three. The servant
was also tightlaced, as evidenced by the small waist over the
wide skirt. She looked like someone from a Victorian period movie.
Though she was somewhat worried about her predicament, Cheryl
didn't conclude to some kind of danger. The girl didn't seem
threatening, and even looked concerned for her well-being. It
must have been Jennifer who arranged this. So she played along.

The downy comforter that she was wrapped
in was unzipped, revealing the deliciously bound Cheryl within.
She was resting on an inclined board, which had a cavity to comfortably
hold the arms of someone who was confined in a monoglove. There
were two other servants standing by, and both of them had bridle-like
harnesses attached to their heads, with bright red balls held
in their mouths. Cheryl smiled faintly. If this was Jennifer's
doing, and it had her trademark twistedness, she really must
have gone to great lengths. She had said that Cheryl had another
birthday present coming, but remained elusive as to what it was,
but the spark in her eyes told of something special.

Cheryl met Jennifer two years earlier,
at a Victorian exposition in a museum, while on a vacation trip.
Cheryl was standing in front of a mannequin dressed up in a beautiful
ball gown, laced down tighter than anything she had imagined.
She stared dreamy-eyed at the display when Jennifer came up and
opened the conversation. Later they found out they were from
the same town, and made fast friends. Since then, they had discovered
their common passion for self-bondage, and had practically become
sisters.

The maid helped her up and onto her feet,
after some kind of ankle-training devices were removed; they
had maintained her feet in a en-pointe position during the night,
clamped tightly together. Some knee-high silk stockings were
pulled on, and attached to the bottom of her long, knee-length
corset, followed by some ankle-length ballet-heeled boots, laced
up tightly. She saw herself in the mirror, after the servants
gently turned her around, and was excited and aroused by the
sight.

Then, the collar came off. It was replaced
with something less heavy, but just as tight and restrictive.
A sort of neck corset, closed at the front and laced at the back,
with frilly white lace around the edges, very pretty. Cheryl
decided she liked that very much. It didn't strangle her, but
it held her neck in a very pleasant, almost erotic manner. Her
head was held delicately and proudly erect, almost aristocratically.
She started shivering in delight.

"Please, Mistress Cheryl, control
yourself. You must behave like a respectable lady today. You
are to be presented to some guests." Cheryl could barely
keep herself from giggling in her gag. Their act was very sincere,
though it was humorous, at least to her.

The gag came off, and after Cheryl worked
her jaw back into working order, she asked, casually, with an
amused tone, "I suppose Jennifer put you up to this?"
The two other servants looked nervous all of a sudden, and the
young one who could speak answered, in a hushed tone, "The
Duchess is in charge of you until you're twenty-five, or when
married off. She arranges everything. Respect that, or your life
will be that of a servant, not a noblewoman with power and respect."
Either these girls were good actresses, or something was strange
here. And who was this Duchess? From their reaction, it must
have been Jennifer. That reassured her, and she continued playing
along. In any case, up to now, Cheryl was enjoying herself quite
nicely!

Another head harness was put on, which
had no gag, but was more elaborate, decorated. There was a ball
on a short strap on a table nearby, and it matched the new harness.
Cheryl chanced a question, "Who will be present, today,
ummm... Miss?" "Some very important people, rich and
powerful. You may address me as Caldwell, Mistress Cheryl. I
am your servant and that's the way servants are addressed, as
you well know." the girl named Caldwell said nervously as
she measured Cheryl's waist with a tape. She then put her hands
around the small waist and pressed hard.

She momentarily walked away, leaving Cheryl
with the two mute servants steadying her. She could hear a phone
receiver lifted. "Yes, Duchess? This is Caldwell. Mistress
Cheryl's waist is now sixteen and a half inches... Yes, Duchess,
I can squeeze easily with my hands. Her neck? I tightened the
neck corset to contact... Sixteen inches, Duchess? Yes, Duchess.
And I think her arms could be pulled back a little more. They
seem a little loose... Yes, Duchess. Thank you, Duchess."
The phone was returned to its cradle. In the mirror, she saw
Caldwell nodding at the two mutes, one of which held her steady
as the other began undoing the knot in the small of her back.
Caldwell took the now loose laces and pulled them taut, while
the second servant pulled Cheryl's monogloved arms up and out
of the way, in strappado fashion.

Cheryl gasped and said, "Easy!"
As Caldwell strained to pull the laces, aiming for another half
inch off the waist, she replied between grunts, "If Mistress
Cheryl wishes to gain power and fortune, her corset must be tight
and her restraints fast! Garrett, hold her well. On the count
of three: one,two, three-PULL!" The extra half inch was
squeezed out of Cheryl's waist, with three powerful pulls, with
a corresponding increase in pressure along the entire corset.
Cheryl was gasping, "I said easy!". Caldwell nodded
at the ball gag on the table, and Garrett fetched it. She thrust
it quickly into Cheryl's mouth and clicked the straps onto the
harness that was on her head. She started to find it less amusing
now, though she decided that in her current predicament, it would
be useless, if not dangerous, to resist. In any case, if it was
part of Jennifer's game...

Caldwell instructed the two mute servants
to help her pull Cheryl's shoulders back. Bracing themselves,
they started by pulling the straps holding the shoulders back
even tighter. Then Caldwell took the laces that regulated the
tightness of the monoglove and pulled them hard, pressing Cheryl's
arms even closer together, her elbows almost touching. The strain
and pressure were both distressing and stimulating. She breathed
hard and fast in her tight corset, her eyes wide, the exposed
part of her breasts heaving up and down. "Calm down, Mistress
Cheryl. You do not want to overstress yourself." That was
easy for her to say, she thought.

The laces on the lower part of her long
corset were slightly tightened, pressing the legs together solidly.
"I think she's ready." Caldwell said, examining her
charge. "We will now dress her properly."

A half dozen ankle-length petticoats were
wrapped around her legs. Then a specially adapted camisole, with
a single wide sleeve in the back, was put on. It was frilly and
smooth, silky white, but tight-fitting. Then a blouse, with the
same single sleeve behind, buttoned up the front, with a high
collar that concealed the neck corset, save for the lacy frilling.
Every wrinkle was smoothed out as the garments were adjusted.
Her hair was arranged by one of the mutes, while the other and
Caldwell prepared the skirt and a jacket.

The skirt was carefully draped over her
petticoats, ensuring that no lumps or other asymmettries were
visible. It had a short train, properly said a train balayeuse,
like some skirts worn in the late 1870s and early 1880s. It was
very pretty, in its light reddish coffee-brown color. The jacket
matched the skirt, and was likewise fitted with a single sleeve
in the back. It was tightened around her, smoothed down, tightened
again, to extract the maximum advantage of her tightly constricted
body. It had to be perfectly conforming, no wrinkles, no lumps.

As the three servants tended to the details
of her attire, Cheryl gazed upon the view in the mirror. The
image reflected was no less than a bondage goddess. Her tiny
waist defined the boundary between the wide skirt that concealed
her legs, save for a luscious hint of the ballet heels at the
bottom, and the upper body, which was in itself a masterpiece
of beauty. Her arms were so tightly pinned behind her as to be
invisible from the front, and her shoulders pulled so far back
that the line down to her tightlaced chest and waist was a perfect,
straight V. Her bosom protruded prominently, both from the upward
push of the brutally tight corset, and the forward thrusting
action produced by the shoulders being pinned so far back. The
curving neckline of the jacket, exposing the immaculate white
blouse, brought the eye down to the bust. Over that was the exquisitely
slender neck, tightly braced in that lovely neck corset, crowned
by a head that was held daintily erect, her hair arranged to
frame her lovely, ballgagged face. Every single curve, line,
seam, strap, the very cut of the clothes, made Cheryl look transcendentally
beautiful, a bound and tightlaced Venus.

Despite the tight constriction, the huge
strain on her arms and shoulders, her tightly pinned
legs, her precarious posture, nay, because of all that, Cheryl
felt a rush of exhilaration. She had daydreamed before of such
beauty, such absolute entrapment, utter helplessness, all the
while being tended to by maids and servants... She drew a deep
breath that made the formidable corset creak, and strained sensually
against all her fetterments. She almost climaxed when a fine
gold chain was attached to a small ring on her neck corset, under
the blouse's collar. She was smiling, her white teeth framing
the lovely fuschia ball in her mouth, eyes bright, heart pounding,
trembling with sheer delight.

The long hobble from her bedroom to the
meal hall took fifteen minutes. Cheryl was exhausted, but enjoying
every second of it. Never could she have ever imagined that her
dreams were coming true! The creaking of the corset with every
tiny step. The clicking sound of her ballet heels on the hardwood
floor. The shuffling and rustling sounds from her skirt. The
subtle scent of lilac from the perfume. The pressure of the restraining
garments over her entire body. Every one of her senses was being
tickled to heavenly bliss. Even the decor of the mansion was
to her liking: Victorian style, tasteful, sober, and quiet save
for the echoes of high heels on hard wood down the long corridors.

Finally, the procession arrived in the
hall were breakfast was to be served. Since she could not sit,
Cheryl was strapped to a decorated post near the table. She wondered
how she was to feed herself, bound as she was. A purple satin
and lace blindfold was put on her.

A few moments later, she heard the sound
of heels on the hardwood floor, tiny steps like she had taken
before, but more practiced. Caldwell's voice was heard.

"Duchess, Mistress Cheryl for your
review."

"Did she give you any trouble, Caldwell?"
The voice was familiar, very similar to Jennifer's. It held authority
and assurance.

"Oh, no, Duchess. She was a little
restive during the adjustments of her corsets and bindings, but
quite well-behaved." At least Caldwell wasn't up to overstating
what had happened. She even mitigated it. The Duchess approached,
and stopped within a few feet. Had she not been blindfolded,
Cheryl would have seen a sight very similar to her own image
in the mirror, earlier. A different dress, lavender in color,
over an identically-trussed up body, though the degree of severity
was much greater. The Duchess, like Jennifer, was nearly a head
taller than petite Cheryl, and that made the incredible tightness
and tautness of her bound and constricted body appear even more
severe. In addition, the Duchess had breasts that were a size
larger than Cheryl's, and projected ahead of her in a most pleasing
manner.

"Beloved Cheryl," the Duchess
began. "As you know, it was the will of your parents that
if they died, you were to be placed in my care until the age
of twenty-five, or until you married. You have noble blood in
your veins, and I will ensure that it shall not be wasted in
menial servitude. You are progressing well in your waist training
as well as in restraint training. I may be repeating myself,
but you must cooperate, because the tighter your corsets, and
the more strict your daily restraints, the better off you can
be, marrying high up the social ladder. You will then have power
over your husband, influence. You will have servants tending
to you hand and foot." The Duchess paused, and saw that
Cheryl was in a state of blissful ecstasy.

"You feel right now the power of
your body, its beauty, its graceful form. The tighter you constrict
and bind yourself, the more it shows how well-to-do you are,
and by that you can ensnare a similarly rich man, who will not
be able to resist you, and be irresistibly compelled to grant
your every wish. That is the power we have, as women." Cheryl
was fighting two urges, one to giggle from the elaborate strangeness
of the situation, and the other to begin spiraling into a sensual
frenzy because of the totally erotic predicament that she was
laced, strapped and bound in.

The Duchess leaned fractionally closer,
as much as her stiff corset and other accoutrements could allow.
Cheryl could hear the creaking of her corset and restraints.
Whispering, "I intend that you succeed me one day, my dear
child. You have potential, I can see it. Your ability to experience
sensual pleasures from being bound and tightlaced will enable
you to go very far, just like me. But if you don't cultivate
your discipline, your self-control, if you refuse to let yourself
be molded and trained, you will never be able to be more than
a common servant, never to access the power and fortune that
is yours by blood." The Duchess straightened, and perfectly
balanced on her own impossible heels, she daintily tip-tapped
away, commanding the servants to feed Cheryl her breakfast.

The gag was removed, after a warning from
Caldwell to keep quiet and well-behaved. She played along, being
fed while still blindfolded. It was strangely pleasant to be
fed, tended to, pampered in this way, all the while being bound
and crushed in a way that most people would consider sheer torture.
If this really was Jennifer's gift, and the "Duchess"
seemed to be her, Cheryl really appreciated it, and resolved
to let Jennifer know of this once it was over.

The gag was returned to her mouth, and
the bound beauty was led to a drawing room, where she was rested
on an inclined board similar to the one were she slept. A book
was placed in front of her so she could read, and was instructed
to nod once when the page was to be turned.

Cheryl read that there was a slight change
in the historical timeline. The fashion of tightlacing remained,
and over time, other fashions came into being, such as arm binding
and long corsets, and progressively higher heels. Naturally,
the more fortuned could afford the elaborate corsets and bondage
apparel, at least the best quality items, to achieve the tightest
possible restriction. And since this state caused the bound beauty
to be completely helpless, servants were required. All this denoted
status, which increased with the tighter bondage and corsets.
All that in addition to the mesmerizing power that the tightest
and strictest practitioners had over their men.

As she read on, Cheryl was flabbergasted
by the complexity of the whole scenario. But she accepted the
whole deal. It was, after all, just a show. Or was it? There
was a seed of doubt in her that said it wasn't. How could it
be real? If it was, why couldn't she remember any of her past
here? She shook herself back to her senses.

After reading a few chapters, obviously
a part of her education in the fine art of being a proper 21st-century
Victorian Lady, she was given dance lessons - bound and constricted
as she was! It was totally exhausting, sometimes even frightening
as she teetered precariously on her stiletto heels, trying to
avoid falling over with what little freedom of movement her legs,
and the rest of her body, were allowed. Caldwell and her girls
were there to catch her, though, just in case.

More deportment training, and just before
lunch, an adjustment to her corset, down to fifteen and three-quarters
inches. Cheryl was bound again to the post in the dining room,
and fed by the servants that were assigned to her.

After lunch, her dress was changed, the
new clothes of different color and cut, but just as flattering
to her tightly restrained figure. The muted stripes were tailored
to emphasize the sharp lines. A small chain was attached between
her shoes, to restrict her paces further. Cheryl shivered deliciously
at the sight of her heavenly reflection in the mirror. Again,
the two words appeared in her mind: bondage goddess.

Caldwell announced that Cheryl was to
take a walk in the garden, outside.

To get down from the upper floor, an elevator
was used, but it was only large enough to fit Cheryl's bound
form. Caldwell and her two gagged assistants took an adjacent
stairwell after securing their charge in the lift, and sending
it down.

Once released from the elevator's narrow
cage, Cheryl was led down another corridor to a door leading
to the grounds behind the mansion. Meticulously maintained, it
was an exemplar of a proper Victorian garden. Other servants
were tending to the grounds, some harnessed to small carts for
hauling tools and garden supplies. A few were even clothed only
in a latex body suit, with a full ponygirl harness!

It all was so real. The seed of doubt
in her mind, planted earlier, grew somewhat. Maybe Jennifer paid
for Cheryl's stay here, but she couldn't have organized it all.
It was just too elaborate, too complex. Cheryl tried to remember
if she had heard of a place like this, a Victorian bondage resort,
but came up blank. Some of the people she had seen could have
been other customers, others being employees. She decided to
concentrate on the delicious sights and sounds that enveloped
her.

Maybe an hour into the walk, done in steps
of two or three inches, resting often, they arrived at the far
end of the garden. The grounds continued on, and in the distance,
maybe a hundred yards away, she could see someone bound to a
post, alone. She could just see that it was a female servant,
by the dress. Cheryl stopped and nodded her head in that direction,
since she was still gagged. Caldwell understood, and explained.

"That is one the Duchess' servants.
She was very delinquent in her duties to the Duchess, and is
being punished by being bound very tightly to that post, the
ropes pulled with the strength of our two strongest footmen.
She has been there since last evening, and is due to be released
in a few hours. No one has been there more than once." Cheryl
wondered what it would feel like, to be tied that tightly, for
so long. Probably so painful that she wouldn't want to try it
again. She felt conflicted inside, part of her sensually desiring
to suffer that predicament, the other wanting to avoid it. Caldwell
urged her along.

Two hours of walking precariously on ballet
heels, restricted to tiny steps because of the corset, which
also crushed her waist down to less than sixteen inches, let
alone the immense pressure on her rib cage, was more than exhausting.
She was glad to return to the mansion, but instead of returning
to her quarters, she was led to another room, on the ground floor.
It was about two o'clock.

This room was very elaborately decorated,
femininely decorated. It was a dressing room, with racks and
racks of lovely dresses, petticoats, frilly things, and one whole
wall of corsets. In the center of the room was a low, long bench
with straps and strange mechanisms on it.

"We will prepare you for tonight's
reception." Caldwell said, and she nodded to her two mute
companions. One left the room, while the other assisted Caldwell
in removing Cheryl's dress and undergarments. Before the other
returned, she was down to her corset and monoglove. She could
feel the laces behind her being untied, and fingers working to
loosen her corset gradually, one inch at at time. Cheryl knew
that being released too suddenly after being constricted for
so long in such a tight grip would cause acute lancing pain in
her ribs and belly.

While they left Cheryl to adjust to the
slightly looser corset, they started loosening the monoglove
in a similar manner, to allow the shoulders to readapt to freedom
one small bit at a time. Caldwell told her to move her shoulders
a bit, to help the readaptation process. The second gagged maid
returned with two more silenced maids, pushing a large wheeled
basin filled with steaming water. One of the two held a small
bin containing soap and washcloths.

Once they had removed Cheryl's corset
and other restraints, and her undergarments, they urged her to
the toilet, with a warning not to inhale too deeply. When she
reemerged, relieved, they proceeded to place her in a standing
spread-eagle with her wrists in cuffs hanging from the ceiling.
Thus exposed, they washed her body thoroughly, with a scented
soap. Her hair was washed with great care, and the tangles combed
out. After rubbing her entire body with a lotion, and perfuming
with an exquisitely sensual scent, the servants released Cheryl
from the spread-eagle and began dressing her anew. The two mute
servants who arrived with the wash basin left.

A light liner was put on, then Caldwell
took the most gorgeous corset that was displayed on the wall:
a massive leather masterpiece that had boning so dense that at
the waist, they were laid one next to the other. "That is
absolutely beautiful..." Cheryl whispered. The upper part
extended all the way up to the neck, but the chest above the
bust was exposed in a circular orifice, from a little over mid-bust
to just under the neck.

Cheryl stepped excitedly into it, as this
kind of corset was one of her fantasies coming true. They closed
it around her body, legs, and neck, so she was encased from the
knees to just under the chin. Caldwell pulled the laces until
the corset was moderately tight around her waist and chest, and
tied them off provisionally.

"Now we will bind you to the lacing
bench, Mistress Cheryl." she said as Cheryl was led to the
bench in the middle of the room. "It will be necessary to
use special measures to ensure the tightest possible constriction.
The tighter you are for our guests tonight, the more you will
impress them."

Caldwell helped Cheryl down onto the bench,
on her belly. It had curves and cutouts to conform to the body's
curves. Her arms were stretched beyond her head, and strapped
into cuffs that were solidly bolted to the end of the bench.
Her ankles were likewise cuffed, but these were attached to cables
that pulled Cheryl's body taut, stretching her out. Her upper
body and buttocks were strapped down with heavy belts, to hold
her down when the time came to pull the laces. To either side
of her waist were posts with oddly-shaped fittings at the top.

Caldwell undid the lacings and took both
ends and wound them around the fittings at the ends of the posts,
like tying up a boat at the dock. Now Cheryl understood their
function: it avoided knotting the laces repeatedly after each
tightening.

One of the gagged maids took a long bar,
four feet in length, and inserted it into the shaft of the winch
that was to wind the cable. Cheryl heard a ratcheting sound,
then felt a strong pull on her ankles, stretching her body out.
This stretched out her midriff, which allowed much greater constriction
of her waist. Caldwell and the other maid each took one side
of the laces, and pulled with all their might, squeezing the
breath out of the helpless Cheryl, who whimpered feebly under
the strain. A tighter waist necessarily meant more pressure on
the ribs, and the full-torso corset made upper-chest breathing
much more difficult.

Caldwell explained, "We will have
to lace you down to fifteen inches, in increments, over the next
few hours. The bench will help us, and you, reach that goal.
Please remain calm, Mistress Cheryl, and all will go well."
Remain calm? She couldn't do anything else in her current situation,
bound and stretched, laced tighter than she had ever been, and
with the prospect of being laced even tighter. Her labored breaths
made the leather corset creak and crackle, a sound that gave
her goosebumps. The odor of the leather heightened her state
of arousal.

An hour later, Caldwell and company gave
the laces another strong pull before securing them to the poles.
Cheryl's waist was measured at fifteen and a half, tighter than
what she had earlier in the afternoon.

Another hour passed, and another pull
on the laces. Fifteen and a quarter. Getting even a quarter inch
out of her tiny waist was a monumental effort. At the end of
the third hour, the fifteen inch mark was reached. Her laces
were tied off, and a small padlock inserted into the grommets
at her waist. The sound of the lock clicking shut sent pleasant
shiver up Cheryl's spine - she automatically associated that
sound with that final committal, in self-bondage, when that last
padlock was closed.

Her ankles were released, and short stockings
put on them, then a pair of exquisitely finished ballet-heeled
stiff leather boots, with mirror-polished stainless steel heels
eight inches long. These were also tightly laced around her ankles
and calves. Now released, Cheryl was carefully raised to her
feet. The corset groaned under the strain.

Her arms were put into an exceptionally
stiff monoglove that matched the leather corset, and seemed to
be specially made to be attached to the latter. Over the course
of the next hour, the three servants pulled Cheryl's shoulders
back ever farther, tightening straps and laces, pulling her arms
close behind, until they touched from the elbows down to the
hands, and her shoulders were pulled far back, farther than she
had ever experienced. She was now completely encased in a brutally
tight prison of leather, from her neck down to her toes. She
couldn't move a muscle, save for some tiny movements of her legs,
below the knee. Though the pressure on her body was nearly unbearable,
she could feel it subsiding gradually and being replaced with
a pleasant, giddy euphoria.

Before she was dressed further, a gagged
maid started applying makeup, even powdering her exposed chest,
while Caldwell and the other prepared the evening's clothes.
A rolling rack came into view, and other than the mass of frilly
cloth that was to be her undergarments, a sumptuous gown of the
finest purple and black silk and satin hung before her. Tailored
to fit the crushingly tight leather corset and monoglove, it
had an opening exactly where her chest was exposed. Glancing
at the mirror, she tried to picture how it would look on her,
with that pushed-up, compressed cleavage heaving up and down
sensually with every one of her labored breaths. She felt excited,
aroused, and between her tightly pinned legs, she could feel
a slight moistness. Cheryl closed her eyes and tried to calm
herself, but the distraction of the incredibly erotic pressure
on her entire body was almost too strong to resist. With a great
effort of will, she held her excitement in check.

A half-dozen tight-fitting, silky petticoats
were wrapped around her, encasing her in smooth, feminine, frilly
fabric from the waist down. She almost wanted to be presented
in her leather apparel, but desperately wished to be dressed
fully in that gorgeous gown. A pad, called a bustle, was attached
to her backside, to extend the buttocks behind, after her monoglove
was tightly secured against her body, totally immobilizing Cheryl's
arms. She could now only move her head slightly, and her legs
a little bit, below the knee. Another half dozen petticoats,
this time thicker and heavier, with a lot of flouncing adding
bulk. were draped over. Then a tight-fitting camisole over that,
smoothed down and tightened like a drum to prevent any wrinkles
under the gown. The weight of the cloth was beginning to bear
down on her, and it made her feel even more stimulated, more
trapped, more helpless...

And what a gown! The finest satin and
silk, dark purple, black accents, flouncing crossing over the
skirt, with black silk roses and ribbons decorating it. The bodice
had the same opening for the chest, exposing Cheryl's heaving
breasts. "It is magnificent, Caldwell." Cheryl remarked.
The maid replied, "It was expressly made for you, Mistress
Cheryl, by order of the Duchess, just as the corset and other
restraints for your costume. There will be several potential
suitors present tonight, and the Duchess has expressly demanded
that your presentation be beyond perfection." Cheryl looked
at herself in the mirror, mesmerized. "I believe that..."

One of the gagged maids knelt down and
raised Cheryl's skirts slightly, to hobble her ankles together
with a gold-plated chain. Another chain was attached to her collar,
a very fine one, not meant to pull her, but as a symbolic link
to the holder of the other end. As it hung down from her collar,
she felt the cold metal brushing against her heaving bosom, just
as she thought that it couldn't get any more erotic. She trembled,
and her breaths turned into shaky gasps of total bliss...

Finally, an elaborate head harness was
put on her, with a beautiful purple ball for a gag, and tightened
and locked into place with tiny golden padlocks. Cheryl saw the
final work of art in the mirror, and had to close her eyes or
the spectacle would have overwhelmed her control. Even in her
wildest dreams she had never conceived of such a beautiful predicament,
such absolute sensual entrapment and loveliness.

It was now nearly seven o'clock - five
hours had gone into turning her into a delectable bound goddess!
Cheryl hadn't eaten supper, but laced to fifteen inches, she
didn't feel very hungry. Caldwell walked twice around her, carefully
inspecting every detail, pulling out a tiny wrinkle here and
there. She was satisfied, and nodded at the two mute servants.

They returned with a large box on wheels,
large enough to contain Cheryl in her current attire. It was
fashioned like a doll package, with a clear window in the cover
that allowed a view of the contents. It was about the same color
as her dress, dark purple, with pink filigreed accents swirling
in Victorian style, and pink satin lining inside.

Caldwell led her slowly to the box, and
turned her around while the two mutes removed the cover. Cheryl
was carefully placed within, and before the box was closed, was
reassured that fans would supply fresh air to her. Now she was
ready to be presented! In her box, proudly displayed, Cheryl
felt beautiful, desirable, sensual, irresistible. Even if she
tried, she could not even squirm pleasurably in that tight prison
of leather and cloth. She inhaled as much as she could and pressed
her chest, waist and belly into the corset as hard as she could,
reveling under the unyielding pressure.

The box containing the gorgeously bound
and dressed doll named Cheryl was taken to the grand reception
hall, where she was left in a line with other boxes, containing
other young women fit for their first presentation. It took about
half an hour, and about seventy or eighty people entered the
hall, all elegantly dressed, the women exquisitely bound and
attired in their finest fetterments and frockeries. They filed
past, inspecting every package. One distinguished elderly couple,
obviously very well-to-do, stopped in front of Cheryl's box,
and she could hear them calling someone over. A young man, about
Cheryl's age, appeared, and stopped dead in his tracks when he
saw the apparition behind the clear plastic. His eyes were wide
open, and his jaw dropped in astonishment. The older man seemed
to ask him a question. Shaking himself out of his stupor, he
nodded. Cheryl's box was opened. She was chosen!

She could tell that the young man, Vincent
by his name, was both nervous and excited. His hand trembled
slightly as he took the fine gold chain that was attached to
Cheryl's collar. She stepped out of the box, steadied by her
maids. She could feel a slight squeeze on her shoulder, through
the tight restraints. Turning her head slightly, she saw Caldwell
smiling and nodding. She concluded that meant she had a prize
catch!

During the evening, she could understand
now what the Duchess and the others had said about her power
over men. Vincent seemed to be entranced by the bound and tightlaced
goddess at the end of the chain, as if the physical bondage on
Cheryl traveled along the chain and turned itself into emotional
bondage on Vincent's end. She caught glimpses of his parents
- the older couple - nodding as they watched Vincent and Cheryl
together, and especially Vincent's expression of almost uncontained
awe. They too were very satisfied by his choice. And Cheryl knew
that Vincent was now completely under her sensual power.

Music started, and Vincent, still looking
like a deer caught in headlights, looked at Cheryl expectantly,
who understood, and nodded. They began to dance, Cheryl performing
exactly like Caldwell and her companions had taught her earlier
in the day. She lost track of time, each dance more wonderful
than the last. Her eyes grew brighter and brighter with each
passing moment.

The motions contributed to her sense of
arousal, every tiny wiggle translated and magnified through the
tight grip of the corset, gradually amplifying her excitement,
and eventually, her heart pounding, her breaths short and quick,
her bright eyes rolled up into their sockets, and with a soft
moan in her purple ball gag, she passed out as she attained a
powerful but strictly contained orgasm, falling into Vincent's
arms, trembling, a blissful smile on her face. Her last thoughts,
before sinking into black oblivion, were of utter fulfillment,
total joy. She had never felt so wonderful in her life.

This is where Cheryl wakes up in her torture
chamber, still tied tautly to her table.